


the wind blows loudest when you've got your eyes closed

by emavee



Series: Whumptober 2020 [12]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Brief Mention of Vomit, Broken Bones, Comic: Robin: Year One, Dick Grayson is Robin, Gen, Hurt Dick Grayson, It's just to be safe, Major Character Injury, it's tagged graphic violence but really everything happens off screen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:34:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26966029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emavee/pseuds/emavee
Summary: Dick nearly dies, brutally beaten by Two Face. It’s not an easy thing to bounce back from.Whumptober Day 12: broken bones
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne
Series: Whumptober 2020 [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948276
Comments: 4
Kudos: 110





	the wind blows loudest when you've got your eyes closed

Dick sobs, wrapped loosely up in Bruce’s arms. He can’t hold his child any tighter, not with the numerous horrific injuries littering his body. But Dick wants his comfort, is apparently craving it with a fierceness that overpowers even those first days after his arrival at the Manor. He clutches at Bruce’s sleeve with the hand that wasn’t shattered, fingers white-knuckled even as he shakes with pure exhaustion. He has yet to be able to remain awake for longer than half an hour at a time.

Dick has never cried like this. At least, not anytime Bruce has been present for. Maybe he sobbed like this—so hard and devastated that he couldn’t breathe enough to do more than choke and whimper, so frantic that Bruce is scared he’ll make himself sick—back when he was stuck in the detention center, when he wasn’t even allowed to go to his parents’ funeral, but Bruce wasn’t there to hold him then. He can now. The Man of Steel himself wouldn’t be able to tear him away from Dick right now.

He’s spent days down here already. Six long, agonizing days to be precise. Two days where Dick had lain in critical condition followed by another four of him looking oh so small and pale as Bruce waited restlessly for him to finally wake up. 

It’s taken several tries to get Dick awake enough to be able to do more than whimper or call out indiscriminately for Bruce or Batman, but now that he is able to manage it, Bruce almost wishes they could go back. Dick had just enough time to look over at him with big watery eyes before the tears started to fall.

“Let it out, Dickie,” Bruce tries his very best to soothe him. Dick cries even harder. “You’re okay now. You’re safe, I promise. You’re going to be okay.”

“Why?” Dick chokes out. “I don’t understand, Bruce. Why would he do this? Why did this happen?” When he looks up, his eyes are puffy red and still glazed over with all the pain and misery and tears. His lips are trembling with the effort of it all. He’s already so strong, just being here to ask this question. 

Bruce wishes so badly that he had an answer for him.

* * *

Still in his Robin uniform, cradled against the armor plating Batman’s chest, Dick's still form had been bent and broken. The fabric had been soaked with so much blood. Too much blood. He had wheezed and cried even in unconsciousness, pain escaping him in panted gasps. Bruce thought for a moment that Dick was waking up as he ran with him to the car, but he merely convulsed in Batman’s arms as he choked on his own vomit. 

Bruce ran faster.

Alfred had cut off the uniform and scrubbed away the blood. He’d bandaged the smaller abrasions, careful of the numerous dark and disgusting bruises. He’d splinted broken bones and sewn up the gash that poured red down his face. 

He’d called in Leslie when Dick crashed for the first time.

Throughout all of it, Bruce had watched on the sidelines, held back from his kid by Alfred’s curt instructions and his own cowardice. He’d pulled the cowl down with shaking hands but hadn’t been able to tear himself away in order to change out of his blood- and vomit-soiled armor. All the while, Dick crashed once more on the operating table, as they tried to suture together all the destruction inside of his tiny body.

The damage had been extensive. Bruce had known that—he’d had a front row seat to it after all—but it was so much worse to hear Leslie list out injury after injury, all of them blurring together and settling heavy in his chest. He couldn’t breathe. 

How ironic; Dick had four broken ribs, a punctured lung, and here Bruce was struggling to breathe, even though he had nothing more than a mild concussion and some acid burns on his wrists. The dark bruises on his knuckles had come later.

He can still see the bloody bat every time he closes his eyes, can still hear the horrific sounds of wood against flesh ringing in his ears. 

It’s too much. It's all too much. Dick shouldn’t be alive.

But, somehow, he is.

Bruce had sat on the edge of his seat at Dick’s side, leg bouncing with never-ending anxiety and chin held in his hands. He didn’t shower or eat or sleep. He’s not even sure he blinked.

He’d just waited, until finally splinted fingers twitched against the pale sheets and hazy eyes fluttered open. It was the greatest sight Bruce had ever seen.

He’s not sure when the blue of Dick’s eyes became his favorite color, but it certainly is now.

* * *

“Am I alive?” Dick whispers, chin resting on one of his knees. The other is stretched out in front of him, still in a bulky, restrictive brace.

“Yes, Dick,” Bruce murmurs, holding his hand and relishing in the fact that his son has healed enough for him to do so now. “You’re alive. Of course you are.”

Dick nods. “And you’re alive?”

“Yes, chum. I’m right here. You feel this?” He wraps Dick’s fingers around his wrist, pressing them against his pulse point. Dick shakes his head so he presses harder until Dick finally nods. “My heart is beating, just like yours.”

“And Judge Watkins?”

Bruce sighs. “There was nothing you could have done, kiddo. We’ve talked about this.”

“I know. I just… I’m sorry,” he whimpers. “I should have been better.”

Bruce shakes his head. “Dickie, no. You did your best. Sometimes… we can’t save everyone. I know how horrible it feels, but it was not your fault. You did everything you could. You were so strong.”

“I don’t  _ feel _ strong.”

“I know. But believe me when I say that I am so proud of you for holding on.”

It couldn’t have been easy. His child must have been in agony in those moments, and terrified beyond belief. For too long Batman had been helpless to save him. Bruce is so proud of him just for surviving. 

“Still,” Dick says, “I’ll be better next time. I promise.”

“There is no better to be, chum. I’ve told you, you didn’t do anything wrong. There was nothing more you could have done.”

Dick nods, and they fade into silence for a long moment. Bruce notes how much better Dick’s breathing sounds now. The wheezing had been an awful sound; Bruce never wants to hear it coming from his son ever again.

Eventually Dick sighs, something far sadder and heavier than anything that should be possible from someone so young. Bruce hates to think that this has ruined something in Dick, broken something that will never quite heal. Bruce knows that Dick doesn’t believe him. He never does. 

“I think I can try to sleep again now.” 

“Alright,” Bruce concedes quietly. He helps Dick get situated back under the covers, tucking him in snug and safe. 

Dick still has trouble sleeping on his side, but he turns his head to look at Bruce, watching as he settles back in the armchair situated beside Dick’s bed, the one that Bruce has spent several restless nights in now. 

More than likely, this will not be the last time tonight Bruce is awoken to have a similar conversation. To absolutely no one’s great surprise, this has only made Dick’s nightmares worse. 

“Thanks, Bruce,” Dick whispers.

Bruce answers by leaning over and pressing a kiss to his forehead. Dick is smiling weakly when he pulls back.

“Love you, B.”

There’s a heavy lump in Bruce’s throat all of a sudden. It chokes him, takes his breath away, and aches all the way into his chest.

“Love you too, Dick. Sweet dreams, okay?” 

“Mm. I’ll try my best.”

“I know you will.”

Dick’s face relaxes in his sleep. The bruises have faded and many of the stitches have come out, although the casts on his leg and arm remain. He  _ is  _ healing, everyday, although much, much slower than Bruce would like.

Dick keeps promising that he’ll do better next time, that he won’t fail Bruce or Batman ever again. Every promise makes Bruce sick to his stomach. Dick didn’t  _ fail _ him, but there still can’t be a next time.

Because Dick didn’t fail Bruce, but Bruce very nearly failed  _ him. _

He can’t go through this ever again. Dick is living and breathing and slowly healing, and Bruce will do anything to keep him that way. Even if it means Dick is angry at him for the rest of his life. As long as Dick is alive to be mad, Bruce can live with it. He can stand anything so long as it means Dick is safe.

Robin is finished.

**Author's Note:**

> this is the last of the whumptober prompts that i had completely written and ready to go but several others are at least half-written so hopefully i won't lose my momentum! 
> 
> ALSO a massive thank you for all the kudos and wonderful comments <3 I am literally the worst about responding to comments (every time i try my anxiety just kinda says nope) but i still love and cherish every single one


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